


So you can feel better

by WingsOfTime



Series: ikael [8]
Category: Final Fantasy XIV
Genre: Gen, Sort Of, drunk cuddling, some alcohol, some bathwater, some fires
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-21
Updated: 2018-01-21
Packaged: 2019-03-07 16:59:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,690
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13439232
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WingsOfTime/pseuds/WingsOfTime
Summary: Everyone has their off days. Sometimes two people have theirs at the same time.(reading of other works in series not required, although always recommended! ^^)





	So you can feel better

**Author's Note:**

> just fluff. maybe filler fluff, but hey who cares. read if having a bad day

Thancred didn’t quite know where Ikael was. That wasn’t unusual, really, and more or less nothing to be worried about. Aside from that one time he had rather unfortunately gotten himself kidnapped and tortured, Ikael was apt at wriggling out of whatever trouble he had placed himself in.

That being said, his polished, shiny, brand new Garlond Ironworks stovetop was currently… _malfunctioning_ , and Thancred found himself somewhat desperately wishing for Ikael’s presence. Somewhat, that was, because perhaps it was… a bit his fault.

“Too many swivving knobs,” Thancred hissed, fanning the stovetop frantically. It cheerfully hissed back at him at a much louder volume, and started sputtering out thicker smoke. Thancred coughed.

Twelve—Water. He needed _water_. He dropped the towel and staggered towards the sink, desperately looking around for a cup or a glass. Ikael had to drink from something, right?

The sink and its surrounding area were annoyingly, uncharacteristically clean and tidy. Trust Ikael to take better care of his workstation than he did of his own hands—honestly, Thancred wouldn’t be surprised to find blood spattered randomly across the other half of the room. He opened a cupboard: nothing but a few sealed jars. He opened another one, nearly slamming his fingers against its door in his haste—and this one was filled with strange tin molds. Where did people normally keep their glasses? No—where did _Ikael_ keep his glasses?

 _Just get a bucket, idiot_ , said a voice in his head that sounded very much like Y’shtola. Behind Thancred, the stovetop made a strange sizzling noise, and promptly burst into flame.

“No! No.” Thancred grabbed one of the tin containers and slammed it down over the fire. He felt a searing flash of pain, but the flames abated for a second, swallowed by the lid… and then started to lick up over the edges. Thancred cursed.

He tried to lift the tin off, but it was so _hot_ —he let go of it hastily, muttering expletives, fluttering his hands by his sides. Ikael was going to _kill him_ —

A hand yanked Thancred back by his collar, and he yelped. Then he was shoved ungracefully to the side as Ikael reached for a strange metal tube hanging on the wall and pulled its trigger. Green gunk spewed from the tube onto the fire, and Thancred watched as the flames were quickly smothered into non-existence.

Ikael muttered something, then reached down and turned the knobs in the opposite direction Thancred had. _Oh_. Ikael coughed, once then twice then thrice, and quickly pulled his scarf up over his mouth. Then he slowly spun around, arms crossed.

Thancred winced. Ikael was frighteningly good at giving death glares for someone who was usually so cheerful. Thancred had perhaps been hoping that Ikael would let him off easy and laugh at his incompetence, but—there were dirt stains on Ikael’s clothing, some blood on his nose, a bruise on his forehead—he looked haggard, tired, and not at _all_ entertained.

“ _Explain_ ,” he said.

“Ah…” said Thancred. Ikael’s eyes fell to his hands, and before Thancred knew what was happening they were under the sink, cold water pulsing down and soothing the blistered skin.

“Idiot,” Ikael muttered. Thancred mentally injected a little fondness into his tone.

Uncomfortable silence reigned for a minute, and then Ikael sighed and went fishing in one of the far cupboards that Thancred hadn’t looked through. He pulled out a can of ointment and a roll of bandages.

“Sit,” he ordered, gesturing to a chair by his bed with the can, and Thancred obeyed silently.

“Hands out,” Ikael said next. He sat on the corner of his bed, tugging his scarf down.

“Yes, _Ser_ ,” Thancred returned cheekily, kicking his legs a little; Ikael couldn’t be _too_ angry at him, right?

Ikael sent him another death glare. Thancred coughed and stuck his hands out, feeling very much like a guilty schoolboy.

“Now,” Ikael said, opening the can and beginning to apply the ointment, “I have had… a very rough day. A _very_. Rough. Day. That being said, that is not your fault, and I will not take it out on you. _That_ being said, there is something that obviously _is_ your fault, so tell me: what happened with my stove?”

“… Well,” Thancred began. He felt unusually nervous. Ikael’s voice was calm, and his gaze was… very focused on what he was doing—it was unsettling. “I, uh… remembered you telling me I could use your oven if I ever needed it…”

“The _oven_. Yes, I did.”

“Ah…” Ikael _still_ wasn’t looking at him. Thancred started to fidget. “And… there were these knobs, you see, that I didn’t remember being there, and the whole top part was new and looked very Cid-inspired, so…”

“So you decided to leave it alone and just use the oven below it, or go to, gods forbid, our _kitchens_ and use the ones there?”

“Well,” said Thancred, looking down at his lap.

“Hm.”

Ikael finished with the ointment, then considered the bandages. “I don’t think you need these, thankfully,” he said. “But in case you want them, I’ll leave them out. Just… _ask_ someone to help you and don’t do it by yourself, alright? I know you can be ridiculous about that, but do try to be reasonable this time.”

Thancred nodded. “Of course,” he said. Then he added, “I _could_ have applied the ointment by myself, you know—I am not a child,” and shot Ikael a small grin.

Ikael didn’t grin back. “You just burned yourself on a stove,” he said flatly, then got up and headed back to the appliance itself, pulling his scarf up once more. Thancred's tentative smile faded.

“I—am sorry,” he said to Ikael’s back. “I do not think I have actually said that yet—terribly rude of me, to be honest.”

“Mmhm,” said Ikael. He bent down to inspect the stovetop at a better angle.

“Really,” Thancred continued, “I should be happy to pay whatever fees you require to have it repaired.”

“Not necessary,” Ikael said shortly. “It was an accident. It’s fine.” He gingerly lifted the tin container with the tips of his weapon’s claws.

“I insist,” Thancred pressed, watching as Ikael straightened up and calmly set about closing the cupboards Thancred had left open. Thancred winced when he readjusted the door of the jar cupboard.

Ikael sighed. “If the Scions truly did intend to pay me for all collateral damage caused by their activities, you would owe me a fortune,” he said, finally turning around. “I can handle it.”

“I… Just for the stove,” Thancred replied, a bit lost. “It is yours; I would give out of my own pocket, not the Scions’ coffers.”

Ikael closed his eyes briefly. “Fine,” he said. He closed the last cupboard without looking at it. “You may pay me back when your hands get better. What were you trying to make, anyhow? I don’t see any ingredients.”

“The recipe called for an already-warmed oven,” Thancred answered. “I was attempting to bake a… snack.”

“Great. Well, next time, you can wait for me to come back,” Ikael intoned, “Or ask someone else.” He crossed his arms, looking at Thancred evenly.

Thancred knew a dismissal when he heard one. He rose and headed for the door.

“One more thing,” he added, remembering something and glanced back at Ikael, “Whatever is that oddly-shaped container for? The one that I, ah… misused. Which I will also be happy to replace, of course.”

“It’s a pie crust mold,” Ikael said.

 _Well_. That was ironic. “Oh,” said Thancred.

Ikael kept looking at him with that same foreign, unsmiling expression. Thancred bowed his head as a quick, additional apology, and ducked out of the room.

~*~

Ikael sighed, closing his eyes and sinking onto his bed. He regretted being somewhat short to Thancred, but… it had been a long, _long_ day. He’d apologize later.

Smoke drifted to his nose and he coughed. _Damn_. It would linger for at least a few hours, at this rate. He wouldn’t be able to eat in here, not with the smoke—well. He wouldn’t be able to eat in here regardless.

He coughed again, and frowned, getting up. He might not even be able to _sleep_ in his room, actually. Keeping his scarf pressed to his mouth, he quickly left his living space, catching himself on the doorframe when a muscle twinged unhappily at him. The windows were already open, but he’d have to leave the door ajar as well to air the room out faster.

“Ikael?” Y’shtola’s voice called out to him, and he glanced to his left. She was leaning out of her own room, holding a scroll in one hand. Perhaps she’d been studying?

She sniffed and made a face. “Whatever is that ghastly smell?” she asked, ears flattening in distaste.

Ikael huffed. “Thancred set my stove on fire,” he said. “Not on purpose, of course, but I’m sleeping in the library tonight.”

She sighed. “Idiot,” she muttered semi-fondly, then beckoned to Ikael. He trotted forward, frowning.

“You may use my quarters to clean up, if you wish,” Y’shtola said. “I’ll see what I can do about the smoke.”

Ikael started to shake his head. “I do not wish to disturb you—” he began, but she held up her hand.

“’Tis the least I can do,” she said firmly. “You seem drained and weary, and you need a bath.”

“Thanks,” Ikael said flatly.

“And wash that bad attitude out while you’re at it,” Y’shtola ordered, pushing past him. “It is unflattering. And not like you.”

Ikael grunted, watching the flick of her tail as she walked away.

~*~

“‘It’s not like you, Ikael,’” Ikael muttered as he unlaced his boots. “‘Why can’t you be cheerful, Ikael? Listen to all my problems, Ikael.’” The laces stuck on a knot. He growled and tugged harder.

“Godsdamned typical,” Ikael muttered. He yanked once more out of spite before digging in with his nails.

Five annoying minutes later, he was sinking into clean, soapy bathwater. He let out a long sigh.

“And _I’m_ the whiny one,” he muttered to no one in particular, kicking a little with his foot. Water splashed out of the tub. “ _I’m_ the sensitive one. I’m the _clingy_ one. Gah. I’m not clingy!”

He kicked at the water again. More of it splashed onto the ground. He’d have to clean that up.

Ten minutes later, Ikael hadn’t moved.

“I’m not clingy, am I?” he said petulantly.

“Uh,” said Alphinaud.

Ikael rolled his head around to look at him.

“What,” he said, “in the _hells_ are you doing in here?”

“You’re not Y’shtola,” said Alphinaud.

“Of course I’m not Y’shtola!” Ikael slapped his bathwater a little for emphasis, feeling frustrated and a little embarrassed, because he was naked and he was also definitely whining, and he didn’t like being caught in his hypocrisy. Alphinaud followed the splash of water with his gaze.

“Well, I—"

“Wait.” Ikael frowned. “Why are you looking for Y’shtola in _here_? Why do you want to watch her—”

“I _don’t!”_ Alphinaud held up his hands, ears going red. “I do _not!_ I simply wanted to ask to borrow a book!”

“So you went looking in her _bathing_ room?”

“I heard someone talking!” Alphinaud exclaimed. “I didn’t know it was her bathing room! I’ve never been in here!”

“ _Ughh_ ,” Ikael groaned. “Alphinaud, I’m _naked_.”

“I know! I’m sorry!” He started to back away.

“Wait!” Ikael called, sitting up, and Alphinaud froze.

“Uh…” Ikael didn’t know how to phrase his question. He asked simply, “… Do you think I’m clingy?”

Alphinaud frowned. “Er,” he said, “It… is not quite the word I would use to describe you. I do not know… don’t you usually have these sorts of conversations with Thancred?”

Ikael sighed. “You may leave,” he said, leaning back and shutting his eyes.

“Hm. Heroic, perhaps,” Alphinaud offered, sounding thoughtful. “Approachable? Amicable. Effervescent, even. Definitely friendly, although that’s somewhat of a dull word. Always an ear to—”

“ _Get out._ ”

Alphinaud squeaked and fled the room. Ikael only felt a little bit bad.

~*~

“And what are _you_ doing? Moping?”

Thancred glanced up. Y’shtola was staring down at him, hands on her hips. He shifted nervously, drawing his legs up and clutching his wine bottle.

“No,” he muttered unhappily.

Y’shtola let out a long-suffering sigh. “Gods, you and Ikael are simply spending the entire day whining to other people and feeling sorry for yourselves, aren’t you? The two of you are quite the pair.”

Ikael was moping too? “Is Ikael upset?” Thancred asked, peering at Y’shtola.

She raised an eyebrow. “Why don’t you ask him?” she said.

Thancred ducked his chin into his knees and took a small swig of wine. “He is angry with me,” he mumbled.

“ _Children_ ,” Y’shtola muttered. Then she frowned, bringing a hand to her ear.

“What?” she said. “Clingy? Yes, you are.”

Behind her, a fly buzzed around a crate. Thancred watched it as it landed.

Y’shtola paused, then said, “Chin up, Ikael. It’s not necessarily a bad thing.”

“He’s not clingy,” Thancred said into his knees, a little defensive. The fly flew away, and he lost sight of it.

“Then tell him that,” Y’shtola said, toeing at him. Her tone softened. “And put that bottle away; you shall find no answers at the bottom of it.”

~*~

Y’shtola had done an excellent job of airing out Ikael’s room. It now smelled clean, and slightly of moss. Ikael made a mental note to thank her for everything later; it really was quite kind of her to help him out like she had. He’d bake her a cake; she’d been oddly enthusiastic the last time he had made one.

Ikael had called Wedge to enquire about replacing the stovetop, and they had agreed on a date and price. It was unfortunate that such a new piece of equipment had gotten damaged so quickly, but… better to find out before he actually needed to cook something on it.

Someone knocked on his door. The sound was tentative, quiet; without the sensitivity of his ears and the silence of the room and open windows, Ikael wouldn’t have picked it up.

He opened the door. Thancred stood there, looking down, a bottle clutched in one hand. His hair was falling in front of his face and his shoulders were slumped.

He lifted his gaze to somewhere on Ikael’s chest.

“It’s the anniversary of Warburton’s death,” he said quietly.

A second ticked by.

_Oh._

Ikael pulled him in without a word, and shut and locked the door. Thancred hovered uncertainly, eyes flitting guiltily to the stove before darting around the room.

“I—” he said, and Ikael gently took the bottle from his fingertips, placing it on the counter.

Then he slowly wrapped his arms around Thancred. He felt him breathe in sharply, then let out a shaky exhale.

“I’m sorry,” Ikael said simply.

Thancred was already, expectedly, protesting. “No, you didn’t—”

“I’m _sorry_ ,” Ikael repeated. He gave a little squeeze.

Thancred swallowed, then laid his head down on Ikael’s shoulder. He returned the hug, burrowing into Ikael’s neck.

They stayed like that for an echo of a moment, and then Thancred pulled away. The loss of proximity felt reluctant.

Ikael pushed his hair to the side and waited. Thancred's eyes were sad, but open, and they darted across Ikael’s face.

“Um.” Thancred cleared his throat. “Y’shtola said something about… clinginess?” The corners of his mouth lifted a fraction of a hesitant ilm.

Ikael shook his head. “Just me being whiny,” he said. “We don’t have to move apart; we can stay like this.” He squeezed Thancred's arm. “Do you want a hug?”

Thancred blinked rapidly, then let out a breath of a laugh, eyelashes falling as he glanced down.

“I… am not accustomed to this,” he admitted. “Usually our positions are reversed, are they not? It feels strange being the focus of attention.”

“Usually doesn’t matter,” said Ikael. Thancred looked back at him. His face was solemn, sad, somewhat wistful. His lips parted, but he said nothing.

“You are not used to having this, are you?” Ikael asked. Something in Thancred's expression shifted. Ikael said, “We do not have to say anything. We do not have to use words.”

Thancred said, “No?” His voice was… thin. A layer of snow resting on a crack of ice.

“No,” Ikael confirmed. “We can simply… be.”

A soft breeze wandered in from outside. It weaved around them, playing with their hair, touching their eyes and cheeks and mouths. Leaving.

Thancred said, “I… I’d like that.”

Ikael smiled at him. Thancred smiled back, tentatively.

They lay on the bed, to be silent. Ikael tugged at Thancred's hair tie until it came loose, and hooked his fingers through it.

He broke the silence after a few minutes. “What do you need?” he said.

“I… do not know,” Thancred admitted. “Perhaps… talk? Tell me why you were in such a frightening mood earlier.”

Ikael chuckled. “Was I truly frightening?” he asked, amused.

Thancred gave a falsely dramatic shiver. “You were terrifying,” he replied, the ghost of a smile on his face. “Why, I half thought you were going to kill me and then dance on my grave to the rhythm of your heartbeat, or whatever it is you monks do.”

Ikael laughed. Thancred moved closer to him. Ikael said, “ _Well_. I hope I put the fear of the Twelve into someone today. So the group I ran with…”

He told Thancred about the ridiculousness of the Free Company he had used to be a part of that he’d met up with again, about swallowing at _least_ a dozen spiderwebs inside a dark, dank tunnel, about running after a healer who’d got it into their mind to eat the brunt of the enemies’ attacks. He left out the needless drama, the arguing, the name-calling, the infighting, because that wasn’t important. Because Thancred's form was gradually untensing, and his laughter was starting to become genuine.

“And then she said, ‘Well, I wouldn’t _have_ to constantly stop if you bothered to heal me.’ To me! _Me!_ And I’m just standing there, and Greased Lightning wore out around, oh, ten minutes ago? And I don’t even know what to _say_ to this woman.”

Thancred laughed harder, throwing his head back, and Ikael giggled along with him, leaning into his arm. It was head into nightfall by now, and any sombreness had long since left the room.

“Ah, gods,” Ikael muttered as their breathing calmed. “Hey, you brought wine, right? How much of it is left?”

“Hm… all of it,” said Thancred. “Mostly. I only had a little.”

“ _Perfect_ ,” Ikael said, crawling off the bed. Thancred squeaked in protest.

Ikael hopped to his small kitchenette, opening the drawer he stored his cups in. He picked up two wineglasses, turning around when Thancred made a strange noise.

“What?” Ikael said, grabbing the bottle of wine before jumping back on the bed.

“ _That_ ’s where you keep your glasses?” Thancred said incredulously. “In a _drawer_?”

Ikael tilted his head, confused. “Yes?” He handed Thancred a glass. “Where else am I supposed to put them?”

Thancred reached for the bottle in reply. “Maybe it’ll make sense when I’m drunk,” he muttered, pouring out a healthy amount.

Ikael blew a rolanberry at him, and snatched the bottle back to help himself.

~*~

“An’ I love… _all_ my friends!” Ikael exclaimed, gesturing widely and nearly hitting Thancred in the chin. Thancred nodded sagely, wriggling around. His back was itchy.

Ikael turned his head. “An’ you’re,” he mumbled into Thancred’s ribcage, “You're my favourite.”

“ _Oh_ ,” Thancred said, surprised and touched. “Well… you’re _my_ favourite too.”

“ _Ohhh,”_ said Ikael. He sounded like he was about to cry, which… _wouldn’t_ do.

Thancred shushed him hurriedly, patting the top of his head. His head…

“Your hair is so soft,” Thancred whispered in awe.

Ikael giggled. “Your voice is funny,” he said.

“I’m a comedic genie,” Thancred replied seriously, because it was true.

Ikael giggled _more_. “Genus!” he said, and Thancred giggled too, because he was funny. Wow. They were both so _hilarious_. They should start a… a comedy. For touring.

“We should comedy, for touring,” Thancred suggested, and Ikael giggled louder. Thancred joined him. Again.

“Gods, would the two of you _keep it down_?” someone very rude and angry said, barging into the room. “Some of us are trying to _sleep_.”

“Shh!” Thancred told them.

Ikael gasped. Why?

“It’s Y’shtola,” Ikael said in a hushed voice. “Uh… oh. Uh-oh.”

“What is wrong with the two of you?” demanded Y’shtola. “And my name is _Y’shtola_ , not ‘Yisholie.’”

Thancred laughed. “You’re saying it wrong,” he informed her.

“Gods,” Y’shtola muttered. Then she was suddenly right next to them. “How many… where did all of these bottles come from?” she asked. Thancred winced at the tone of her voice, closing his eyes and smelling Ikael’s hair for comfort. It smelled… furry. He sneezed.

“I had ‘em,” said Ikael. “Hehe… I keep ‘em! For me. And friends.”

“Do you,” Y’shtola said in a not nice voice.

“I’m friends,” Thancred answered. He pulled Ikael closer, and Ikael squiggled against him.

Y’shtola sighed. Then Thancred felt something warm and soft cover him. He tugged, confused, and Ikael yelped. Whoops.

~

“Go to sleep,” Y’shtola muttered fondly, pulling the blanket up over them and stepping back. She sent the lamp burning low in the corner of the room out with a brush of her aether, and bent down to pick up the discarded bottles and glasses on the floor. It was a small miracle they weren’t broken, really.

Her attention was drawn for a moment by Ikael stirring, and she glanced up instinctively. But he was simply shifting around—closer to Thancred, apparently, who muttered, “Yer— _hic—_ warm’n sof’”, before loosening his grip on Ikael’s ear and stumbling ungracefully into unconsciousness. Ikael quickly followed.

Y’shtola made a mental note to leave them a couple of potions in the morning—they’d need them.

Thancred snored, loudly. Y’shtola’s ear twitched at the sound, and she winced.

Well. She’d make _one_ , she decided as she carefully closed the door.

They could fight over it.

~*~

**Author's Note:**

> have some good feelies before... whatever could be next. eheh.
> 
> (shameless plug: want the weenie to give u a hug? [ tumblr ](http://draw-you-coward.tumblr.com/))


End file.
